


the dead club

by pixelpop (orphan_account)



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Depression, Empath, Haphephobia, M/M, One-Sided Matsuoka Rin/Nanase Haruka, Panic Attacks, Pining, Psychic Abilities, Social Anxiety, Terminal Illnesses, possible major character death i haven't decided though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/pixelpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The air outside is crisp and chilled, the smell of leaf mold and mud permeating the senses, and a gust of wind kicks through the street to blow a horde of leaves into scattered formation at their feet. One particular leaf darts up into the air, close enough that Haru can see some of the details in the orange, mud trampled thing, and he imagines for a moment that it’s himself— small and torn up, apart from the rest of the pack. Alone.</p><p>“Haru?”</p><p>Something in his concentration snaps, and Haru’s breath very suddenly falls from his throat, blowing away in the wind with the rest of the leaves. Makoto is watching him, voice gentle and face soft, standing near the car underneath a pool of cold light from the streetlamp above him. Little strands of Makoto’s hair twitch in the breeze, and Haru feels something in his chest tighten.</p><p>(or the one where haru is a struggling empath that joins a group of terminally ill young adults and never expects to find love.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. trapped

**Author's Note:**

> hello i'm back again.
> 
> this was written on a whim, inspiration from an original plot for this year's nanowrimo that i never used.
> 
> have fun.

[Death is not a sickness, contrary to popular belief.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZT-ZYfi0RXU)

It isn’t something that crawls and grows, festers beneath your skin like rust. It can’t touch you, doesn’t smell, and doesn’t reek of metal and rot. It isn’t slow and burning like the last breaths of a candle. _That_ is sickness.

Death is sudden, consuming and overtaking. It floods the land it finds. Something that death has taken can never be taken back.

But sometimes there are lost creatures, little fixtures of the universe that slipped by and managed somehow not to drown in death’s conquest. These things are not always the same once given back, and their polished charm is dulled to a faint glimmer.

There is no more hope in their eyes, for no one gets any more than a second chance.

Nanase Haruka died on the eighth of January some years ago, a cold bright day that promised something better, but in the end it only wrought grief.

Nanase Haruka was dead for almost two whole minutes before reanimating. The doctors said they had never seen anything like it, the responses coming back, heart beating and brain functional.

But it came with a price.

The child wouldn’t stop screaming upon consciousness, refusing touch and simply feral in all human contact. His body was recuperating quickly, and what seemed to be left of the meningitis was fading faster than it had on the abundance of medications prescribed.

But the boy, he simply was not well.

He was overwhelmed with emotion that wasn’t his. He refused touch, isolated himself when he was well enough to move around, and hid from the people that caused him pain.

Headaches. Constant, throbbing headaches along with the itch of foreign emotion that clouded his judgment. Half the time he didn’t understand what he really wanted, what was his and what was theirs. It was a throb in his skull that presented only problems, no benefit.

Haru was only seven. Most of the stuff he heard, felt, he couldn’t understand. He felt the bone deep ache of his mother’s wish to leave his father, the strain in their words, the way their emotions pulled and pulsed with the colors swirling between them.

Time passed in a slow swell. Isolation throbbed in him, passively consuming his ideals until he found no point in leaving. There would never be reason in ever escaping from his room, a small sanctuary of inanimate touch and silence.

When Haru was eleven, he met a boy.

Rin was a whirlwind of noise and color, hands always touching; always needing assurance that Haru was still there. He would ponder and ask questions just to fill the silence that Haru always left. And even then, he would answer them just to have something to tell Haru every day no matter how many times he’s heard it because he never complained.

Rin never complained about him. He never said that he was too quiet, too touchy, should just “get over” whatever is bothering him. Rin was loud and wild, but it touched Haru in the places that were too suffocating.

When Haru was twelve, Rin moved away.

He escaped again, crowded in blankets in his room pretending like the outside world didn’t exist. The doctors told him there was something wrong with his brain after the bout of meningitis, but it was hard to tell. They’d have to get him back in to do some tests, but Haru never complied.

Thirteen was a very blank, awful age. Most of that year consisted of a lot of arguments, his mother screaming and chasing circles with him in the kitchen. Haru never argued back though, which might mean that it never really was an argument to begin with, a one sided shouting match that only reduced his mother to tears.

“ _Why can’t you just talk to me? What are you so afraid of, Haru?”_

When fourteen came around, Haru thanked God for it. At that point, his parents gave up. Haru had resigned himself to a life inside four walls, schoolwork online and meals in bed, still huddled under all those blankets for the fear that someone would touch him and understand, like they could read it across his face and shout, “ _freak!”_

_Maybe they could feel back._

Three years grinded by. Haru slept, ate, and did schoolwork at his normal pace. He wasn’t sure what would happen after he finished school. It was a nagging fear in the back of his mind because this gritty isolation only felt like a prelude to the end. Haru was awaiting freedom from this curse, this sickness, but it never came. He wasn’t waiting for anything, only a change that would never happen.

Rin moved back.

His mother looked betrayed the first time Rin came over. It stunk in the air, and the colors flitting around her pulsed with a life he wasn’t accustomed to. Haru could feel the headache coming on again, only this time it felt worse than ever before.

“You look horrible, Haru,” Rin said, looking as if he was asking for permission to sit down beside him on the bed. Haru simply nodded, but Rin still awkwardly stood near the door. _He’s scared of me, isn’t he?_ “Last time I saw you, you looked so much better. What happened?”

He went to speak, but his voice caught, hitching at the very opening breath. It had gone unused for so long. Barely speaking in years had rusted his voice, had shut him up. He was now truly a ghost, silent and vacant in every aspect.

“Come outside, Haru, for me?” His eyes were pleading, searching for something in him, but Haru just shook his head. “You can’t live like this. I thought— I thought that after I left you would get better, that maybe I was the one causing you to hurt so bad. I guess that was selfish of me to think, but I can’t let you stay this way.”

Haru coughed. There was an attempt to dust off his vocal chords, try to speak in some way, but it got clogged up again. At first, he was confused, unsure of the moisture in the back of his throat that seemed to choke him off. It felt like death, an awful, drowning death.

He was crying.

Rin moved awkwardly, hands outstretched as if he wanted to touch and comfort, but he knew that wasn’t something Haru was capable of. In the end, he sat between Haru’s open legs and hummed, murmuring soothing words that Haru would occasionally _feel_ every time they brushed, just accidentally. Rin wasn’t warm, just cool and calming like aloe on a burn.

Haru felt like he was burning.

It’s not two months later that his parents decide to move due to work. _“You’re old enough now, Haru, I think you can take care of yourself. It’ll be good, won’t it?”_ He tries to admit to himself that, yes, this will be good for him and now he won’t even have to deal with his parents anymore, but it actually just makes him feel worse.

They’re leaving him. He’s problematic, a son that no one would want to talk about. He’s accomplished nothing other than be an absolute train wreck, and now he’s left alone to drown in it.

He calls Rin every night. They talk for so long that Haru sometimes hates that he lives across town.

“School is almost over, Haru. What are you going to do?” There is a distant buzz in the background, most likely a television, and Haru listens to the static as he thinks.

“Stay here. I don’t want to move away, this house is left for me so I might as well stay here,” Haru sighs. Rin does so with him.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you—,” he stops, teeth clicking together. Haru listens, waits for it, but he can’t gauge how he feels. Sometimes it doesn’t feel right not being able to touch and just _know_. Sometimes Haru thinks he might be getting the hang of it. “I’m moving away for college, like _really_ far away. I want to swim, train for it, you know? I’m sorry Haru, I wish I could be here for you but—.”

He doesn’t say it, but his words reek of it. _I love you but not more than my dreams._

“I’m sorry, Haru.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs. He doesn’t feel sad. It somehow doesn’t bother him. It’s logical for Rin to move away, pursue what he’s always wanted to do and leave Haru behind, trapped in his cage. “I’m just me, and you’ve got a life to live.”

“Don’t make it sound like that,” Rin grits out. He sounds angry, but Haru isn’t sure whom he’s angry with. “I’ve never questioned you, and you’ve never questioned me. I value that, but don’t think that I’m going to completely abandon you. We can talk all the time, if you’re feeling scared I’m just a call or text away. Know that.”

Haru swallows back a lump in his throat. He feels a little sick, his stomach wavering with every breath he takes, and then he says it, hushed and quiet and full of tears.

“ _I love you, Rin.”_

“I love you too Haru. Don’t ever forget that."

The conversation doesn’t quite end. They stay on the line late into the night, just breathing with each other until they fall asleep. When Haru wakes, the line is dead, and something in him feels like it’s been severed, and for once he feels alone inside his head.

Time is like a free flowing river now, rushing as fast as it can, afraid to be late, and Haru is hanging on for dear life. High school ending throws itself at them— so sudden that on graduation day Haru feels like he’s going to puke. He doesn’t walk, but Rin does, and so he promises himself that he’ll go outside this time.

It takes him thirty minutes to open the front door, sweating palms and breath rattling around inside his lungs. The doorknob is cool to the touch, and in one stroke of confidence, he pushes it open.

The sun is warm on his face, breeze kicking by in the spring air, and he inhales deeply. He opens his windows often, but it’s never the same.

There are blotches of color, vibrant and shaking with the people crossing streets and in cars. His heartbeat stumbles and starts to run, and Haru has to try and breathe through it, anticipate what will come. He has to be next to people, has to touch them on the train, has to feel.

He has to be grounded.

When he makes it to the station he’s shaking, words clogged in his throat and his feet wobbling on every step. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone but it does nothing. He still sees it, feels it like a separate heartbeat in the air.

_Think of Rin. Think of Rin._

He gets very close to a panic attack on the train though. It’s hard being piled in next to people and having to touch and feel and try and wade through the colorful clouds around him. It’s suffocating and almost worse than being trapped in his little room, but this matters to him because it matters to _Rin._

The school is packed, people everywhere panicking and rushing by in their robes, taking pictures, constantly _touching._ He frantically texts Rin and asks him where he is, but as he’s trying to seclude himself in a corner, he feels a hand tentatively touching his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything, just buries his face in Rin’s shoulder, the touch no longer bothering him because it’s cool and soothing, a hint of excitement and anxiety roiling in his stomach. _That is Rin,_ he thinks. _Rin is nervous about graduating, of course.  
_

“Are you okay?” he whispers. “How was it?”

“Fine,” Haru breathes. His pulse is slowing, thrumming only slightly in his throat, and Rin smells like mint and too much cologne.

He pulls away just slightly, leaving them at arm’s length. “My mom and sister are here. Want to say hi?”

Haru nods, and Rin sees him hesitate.

“I told them. Well— I said you don’t like being touched, that is. You have a lot of social anxiety and stuff. They understand.”

 _Oh how I wish I could tell you,_ Haru thinks. _If only you knew the extent to which it goes._

Gou is kind, but just a little too obvious about trying not to touch him. Rin’s mother though is quiet and understanding, asking small and unobtrusive questions that make Haru feel warm. Rin brushes his hand, and there’s a shock of heat striking through his chest, wild and sticky, bubbling in his throat.

Haru can’t identify it. He almost asks, but then pulls back when he remembers.

He sits beside Gou and their mother through the graduation. He can’t help but tear up a little when Rin walks across the stage, still unsure if it’s just a wandering cloud of emotion from everyone else in the room, but even if it is he’s still smiling.

Still wishing.

_Why can’t I tell you?  
_

It’s chaotic trying to get out, families hugging and crying in doorways, students talking with classmates. Haru feels the swell of panic again in his chest and hangs back, waits for everything to clear out. Rin’s family goes ahead, something about Gou forgetting her camera in the car, and Haru sits alone on the bleachers in the emptying gym.

“Hey.”

Everyone is almost gone; a few stragglers still stuck here and there either chattering away or just reminiscing. Rin sits down beside him, cap held in his hands.

“How do you feel?”

“Hmm?” Rin looks up at him. Haru hasn’t touched him yet, but he’s afraid to, afraid he’ll feel something he’s not supposed to know with that look in his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s weird thinking that I’m done now. I’m moving on…”

Haru leans sideways, very slowly, and rests his head on Rin’s shoulder. A cold, aching feeling clenches deep inside his stomach, and Haru shuts his eyes. They are quiet for a while, just breathing, and Haru has become accustomed to it. If he keeps his eyes shut for long enough he can imagine they’re back home on the phone together, just listening.

“I’ll be right here for you Haru. Always.”

“When you leave, you have to text me every day,” Haru murmurs. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Later, Gou complains about not being able to find them after the graduation. Rin ruffles her hair and tells her to shut up; she’ll be graduating next. Haru looks on as they take family photos, and then Rin grabs him for a picture.

“No, I—.”

“Come on,” Rin takes his hand, gingerly, and then Haru relents. They stand beside each other, barely touching except for their hands, and it’s like a lifeline connecting them. Tears well in the back of his throat, and Haru grips him tighter.

After the long and arduous post-graduation interactions and a family dinner at Rin’s house, they decide to go swimming. Rin says he wants to swim in the ocean one last time before shipping off to a school with only an indoor pool, and Haru is the only one he wants to be there with him for it.

“You used to swim,” Rin says. He’s stripped down to his jammers, and gestures at the water. “Remember? I got you out in the water a few times. You said it made you happy.”

The last phrase is wistful, eyes grazing the surface of the ocean. Rin looks back at Haru, and their eyes catch in the warm light of dusk.

“Swim with me, before I go.”

Haru learns that he can’t feel in the water. There’s no transfer in it, he can’t hear or see any of it, and in the end Rin has to drag him out. His mouth is raw and salt stained; skin wrinkling from so much moisture. Rin ruffles his hair, a smile growing across his face.

“I’ll swim more,” Haru says in the car. “When you’re gone, I will. If I can’t talk to you, I’ll swim.”

Rin glances at him, just barely, but it’s enough to make Haru’s heart throb a little. The color tingeing him is pink, soft and warm.

Haru doesn’t leave the house when Rin leaves. He feels like a coward for making up an excuse as to why he can’t say goodbye to him in person, but he’s afraid. He is safe here within his four walls, and out there he has to face everything. Rin is leaving, and Haru doesn’t want to see the look on his face, scared to have to touch him and know things that he probably shouldn’t.

“Call me when you get there,” Haru says, curled in on himself in bed. The phone hurts wedged between his pillow and his face, poking into his jaw. Rin chuckles.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he pauses. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re just wasting energy.”

“Anything I do for you is _not_ wasting energy, Haru.”

“Stop saying that!” Haru snaps. He feels a twist in his gut, and he tries to repair, tries to backtrack in his mind, but it doesn’t work. “I’m not— it’s not— I don’t have self esteem issues, that’s not it. You’re acting like that’s my problem. I just…I don’t like people. It hurts. It’s suffocating.”

More silence.

“That’s what you’ve always said, and I’ve never questioned you. But— I just hope that one day you can tell me the truth. It would mean a lot to me.”

There’s another long bout of silence, and Haru is holding back tears. _I didn’t want this._ He lets out a gasp, and then chokes when he hears the dial tone mocking him through the earpiece.

_I didn’t want this._

 

* * *

 

When Haru first began touring the local university he noticed an abundance of flashy neon flyers tacked all around campus-- the title in large, bold font that looked almost offensive in comparison to the subject matter. He was sure at first that it was a joke. It _had_ to be.

(The college thing was Rin’s idea. After that first bout of silence between them— the one that last three weeks —Rin turned a little cold. Conversations became clipped and cut short, and one of the first suggestions was college. He was sure that Haru could do it. It would be good for him.)

_The Dead Club._

The description was basically a flyer that said, “If you’re dying please come to this club. We have fun, eat snacks, and tell jokes. This isn’t a support group.”

 _I actually died once,_ Haru thought. _Maybe I’m eligible._

They used one of the empty classrooms in the Fine Arts building for their venue. A table was set up with various junk foods, and instead of the stereotypical circle of chairs, there had been a couch and armchairs moved in.

When he realized that everything was legit, he felt rude for showing up. After all, he had an ailment of sorts, but he sure wasn’t dying. These people had terminal cancer, diseases, _things that actually kill you._

But they welcomed him. Immediately.

A boy with a thick head of blond hair was trying to open a package of plastic cups, obviously struggling as he kept getting tangled in the cord for his oxygen tank. Haru had already started to slip out, but then he noticed him in the threshold. _Caught in the act._

“Hey! Don’t be shy, come on in,” he was chipper, bright for someone who’s dying and their colors a muddy mix of gray and brown. “We welcome everyone.”

“I’m— I’m not,” he stuttered, feeling _miserable_ for doing this. He must’ve looked like an arrogant douche bag. He couldn’t even make up the excuse for getting the wrong room because there isn’t anything on that floor during night class hours.

“You’re a little early though. The others should be here soon, not too long,” he stopped, watching Haru blush and try to stammer out a response. “Are you okay?”

“I’mnotdying,” he huffed out. “I’m. Normal. I mean—not normal, you’re normal, I’m just not—.”

The boy laughed, a tight wheeze in his chest, but he smiled nonetheless. “You’re not terminally ill? That’s okay. We don’t have very many members in the first place, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing…”

When he said they didn’t have very members, he was right. The club consisted of him— _Nagisa, that was his name_ —Rei, and a boy named Aiichirou who only went by Nitori.

“What’s your name?” Nitori asked. His eyes were bright and interested, colors cloudy, like a rainstorm overhead.

“Nanase Haruka. But just call me Haru.”

“So you’re not dying?”

“No,” he said, a little guiltily, but Nitori just laughed.

“Anything else?”

“Um, I have social anxiety…and this thing called haphephobia. It’s…I don’t like being touched.”

Nitori just nodded. “You can talk medical jargon at me all day long and I’ll understand. After being in and out of hospitals, I’ve learned a lot of stuff. And it’s nice to know about the touching thing, Nagisa is a really physical person.”

A muffled noise of protest came from the other side of the room, and Rei could be heard snickering.

“And me?” Nitori straightened up. “Well I have an immunodeficiency disorder. It’s the common one, which makes me really susceptible to like basically everything, and I also am at a way higher risk for cancer. It’s like living on the edge of your deathbed all the time, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kind of shitty…”

“Oh, come on!” Nagisa dragged himself over, oxygen tank puttering behind him. “Stop being so depressing,” he pouted before turning to Haru, smiling as brightly as he could possibly muster. “I have idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, which equates to me drowning in my own lungs.”

Nagisa elbowed Rei then, making noticeable coughing noises to get him to speak up, but the latter only blushed furiously and went back over to the snack table.

“He was in track in high school, but then they diagnosed him with osteosarcoma in his legs. It’s his left knee, and they’re trying to work on getting it out with surgery,” Nagisa sighed, watching Rei limp along without his crutch. “He always tries to be the hero without it, but he’s a dumbass, really.”

The rest of the meeting consisted of them chattering away, playing stupid board games, and telling funny stories. None of them even got close to touching Haru, and in a sense it made him disappointed. Most people at least accidentally brushed against him once or twice, a little flicker of emotion here and there. But here he feels detached, watching their swampy clouds flicker overhead, straining with life even when bogged down by infection.

The truth is, he keeps coming back to The Dead Club. It’s a morbid title, but it gives him time to unwind after classes, a little breathing space with people in it. They respect his boundaries but don’t make it obvious.

It’s Wednesday, but Haru has just gotten news that Nagisa is back in the hospital again. As usual, he receives a flurry of texts from Rei and Nitori, asking him if he’s visiting and when.

Haru hates hospitals. He hates them more than that suffocating room at home, four walls blank and staring, daring him to speak or even bother to cry out for help.

The last time he was in a hospital he was dying of meningitis, a hopeless case that would result in a premature funeral and grieving parents. The last time he was in a hospital was when he died.

The smell is sterile, sounds metallic and clanking, all machines and things that they stick in your arms. Haru sits in a plastic chair outside the hospital room waiting for the family to be done, wringing his hands over and over again and trying not to focus on the rain clouds choking the air.

Death has no smell. Sickness does.

He doesn’t look up from the floor when another warm body sits down beside him, so close that their body heat is overwhelming and Haru is terrified to touch. He sneaks a peak to his left, eyes flickering in shock at the boy beside him.

“Hi,” he says, smiling at Haru like nothing is wrong and they’re not sitting here waiting to visit a sick friend.

Haru can’t bring himself to say hi back, he just blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you here for Nagisa?”

“Yeah,” he’s all smiles, warm and yellow. He’s not sick like the rest of them, nothing ailing him in his colors, nothing stinking of infection.

For the first time, he wants to touch.

“I’m Makoto. You are…?”

“Haru!” he says, a little too enthusiastically, and then ducks his head. His social skills are on a swinging pendulum, sometimes at ease, and other times an absolute mess. “How do you know Nagisa?”

“We grew up together,” he’s smiling, but it falters a little when the door next to them opens up. His parents are there, looking a little weary, but not too bad. Haru remembers those faces, the kind that know what a hospital looks like inside and out and wishes to never see one again.

“How is he?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine after they drug him up, release him in a few days or so. You’re in the clear to go in and visit.”

Makoto is awkward when he stands, going to open the door the same time as Haru, and they stare at each other and _wow he is tall._ He blushes furiously, waving his hand as the _go ahead_ and Haru opens the door first.

“Oh _god_ finally!” Nagisa says when he sees them. There’s an array of flowers on his nightstands, some looking perkier than others, and Nagisa sees them looking. “They went overboard, _as always._ I think sometimes they’re afraid I’m going to drop dead one of these times so they just hoard flowers in here so it looks pretty. Oh, Haru you’ve met Makoto.”

He nods, still quiet as Makoto pulls up a chair to sit by the bed. Haru opts for standing, feeling awkward now as the childhood friends talk.

“Where did you two meet?” Makoto asks

“The Dead Club,” Nagisa says proudly, propping himself up more with his pillows. He struggles a bit, but waves off Makoto’s hands when he goes to help. Makoto looks back at Haru, his face struggling like he’s trying to search for a terminal illness he doesn’t really want to find.

“I’m not sick,” he says. “I just sort of stumbled upon the club, that’s all.”

Makoto’s face washes over with relief. “That’s good. I’ve been told that there aren’t that many terminally ill people on campus, which is a pretty good thing if I may say from a healthy person’s standpoint.”

“Yeah, but less club members for us,” Nagisa snorts.

The two of them banter and talk, an ease that only comes from old friendship, the kind that lasts through thick and thin. Haru hangs back in the conversation, letting them speak and spends his time observing their colors.

Makoto is an even blend of lemon yellow and sky blue, swirling around brightly near his head. The blue darkens to navy near his stomach, and the rest is violet, curling up and around his knees. His face is sunny, like a little bolt of the sun’s rays brought down to earth.

Nagisa’s chest area is shrouded in a mixture of browns, grays, and pale pinks. Yellow completely engulfs his head though— the kind like straw, and the rest of his body is bathed in maroon. He’s just as cheerful, but get too close to sick part— the thundercloud —and you feel it.

“Ah, you guys should probably go soon, the doctor’s coming to check up on me around four,” he smiles though, heaving a tight breath in through his lungs before hugging Makoto. Haru makes his way for the door, and then Nagisa calls out to him.

“Are you not going to hug me? Get over here, Haru!”

Haru feels terrified for a moment, panic washing over him, and Nagisa realizes it as well. He goes to apologize, that he’s forgotten, but he can’t get it out in time because Haru is already hugging him.

Something dark nudges at the inside of his throat, but the rest is faintly chipper, stained yellow like the sun.

“You— you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Haru says, turning back to Makoto as he holds the door open. “See you soon, Nagisa.”

Haru doesn’t expect Makoto to walk with him the rest of the way through the hospital, but he does. He’s warm and smiley, commenting here and there about Nagisa and the rest of their friends. He is pleasant, someone that Haru wouldn’t mine touching if he had to. His disposition is surprisingly unlike Rin, which sends a shock through Haru’s system when he really thinks about it.

“Hey, do you need a ride?” Makoto asks when they get outside. Haru stares at him, mouth slightly agape, and goes to decline when he stops himself.

“I guess so. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, still chipper, swinging his keys on his finger. Haru trails behind him through the hospital parking lot, trying to keep enough distance so that he doesn’t seem awkward. “Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you not want to hug Nagisa? I know he can be overbearing at times, a lot of people are like that—.”

“I was terminally ill once,” Haru blurts, and then immediately covers his mouth with his hands. They’ve made it to Makoto’s car, and he stops when he’s at the driver’s side, startled a bit at Haru’s confession. “I’m sorry, that’s stupid and random, but it makes me feel better to be in The Dead Club cause when I was seven I had meningitis and they thought I was going to die and it turns that I actually did and I was dead for like two minutes until I came back.”

Makoto stares. “Well. That’s— that’s unfortunate,” he blinks, shaking his head, and then blushes darkly. “That was insensitive, I’m sorry—.”

“No, I was being stupid, it doesn’t make sense I’m sorry—.”

“Don’t apologize,” Makoto says, loud enough to shut him up. “I’m—.”

“Don’t say I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Haru chuckles a little. “You were going to apologize, but you already said not to say sorry.”

Makoto pauses. Laughs a little. Haru joins in.

They stand and laugh like idiots in a hospital parking lot for far too long, but Haru hasn’t felt this good in a long time. Makoto finally manages to unlock the car, and as they climb in Haru forgets for just long enough to accidentally brush hands with him over the console.

He jerks back, abrupt and so sudden that Makoto takes an offensive stance, hands raised like he’s calming down a skittish animal.

“Is that why?” he finally asks. “You don’t like people touching you?”

Haru nods. In that instant, he felt a flash of warmth. _Happiness._ It was so sudden and absolutely bright that it knocked him off kilter. It’s completely different than Rin’s aloe touch, something more akin to the warm glow of a fire.

It sends sparks shooting up from his feet.

The ride home is spent in relative silence (other than Haru’s botched directions, he’s never been good at that anyway). Makoto is brisk but kind when they depart, and Haru distantly wonders how he could possibly acquire his phone number without having to directly ask him. It would be embarrassing.

During this mental debate, he notices there’s a message on the answering machine, blinking at him like a little red warning notice.

He presses the button, expecting some generic “hey how have you been” from his parents, but he stops dead on his way to the kitchen when he hears Rin’s voice.

_He never calls the landline._

“Hey…sorry we haven’t talked in a while, I’ve been really busy. And I guess you have too since you’re not answering this…well, I just wanted to call and tell you that umm, Gou’s gotten sick…so…I’ll be back in town for a week or two to stay with mom and her. Call me back when you get this, if you can. I mean, I understand, Haru,” there’s a long pause where Haru thinks the message is over, but then Rin sighs. “I love you.”

Haru would be lying if he said he didn’t play that message over again. And again.

That night he falls asleep on the couch, the words “ _I love you”_ playing over in his head.


	2. in a box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was awkward to write. i've read it over a few times and the pacing doesn't seem that janky but it just feels strange
> 
> exposition sucks. i guess that's it.

[Haru is awake too early the next morning.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b26r9bnIx-U) His mouth tastes like stale breath and his right arm is completely numb from sleeping on it. The message on the answering machine no longer blinks, but it feels like it’s been burned behind his eyelids.

_Call him. Gou is sick. He needs you._

_He_ needs _you._

Haru tries to dismiss the fact that his hands are shaking when he reaches for the phone. The bitter taste in his mouth rises, suddenly becoming bile, and the nausea sets in.

_Be there for him. He was always there for you._

“Why am I afraid?” he asks the phone. It doesn’t answer; just stares back at him almost mockingly (if an inanimate object can even do that). “Why am I being like this?”

_Your old self. The one that burrowed himself away from the world and depended on him, depended on Rin like a crutch and never gave anything back._

“Shut up,” his hands are still shaking when he dials the number, right from memory.

_Right from his heart._

“Hello?” his voice is far away, rushed and out of breath. He’s probably still on his way into town, either getting off a train or still trekking it to their house. “God, Haru is that you?”

“Yes,” he can’t breathe, can’t say anything. The words are jagged in his throat, but he asks the most logical question. “Is Gou all right?”

There’s an exhale, and then Rin swears under his breath. “Christ, she’s as good as she can get right now. Mom couldn’t tell me anything on the phone, I just— I just fucking got on a plane and flew here as fast as possible. I was at the airport last night when I called you, just getting off. It’s funny— I’m actually walking to your house right now.”

“Why?” Haru blurts, fear crystalizing in his veins. He hasn’t seen Rin in months, he has no idea how he’s changed, what’s different about him, if he still feels the same way, if he’ll leave—.

“Because I haven’t seen you,” he says the words so tenderly that Haru thinks he feels his heart break a little, a small fracture threading out of his beating heart and into his ribs. They ache. “Gou is at the hospital. Mom’s been there for who knows how long, and I don’t have a car and you know— I don’t want to sit on that train alone to the hospital. I just don’t.”

_I need you. Please._

“Haru, why aren’t you talking?”

 _I’m afraid. I’m terrified that you don’t care, that I’m not good enough. You wouldn’t talk to me, you didn’t care because I was_ lying _to you and I still am._

“I’m tired, sorry. I just woke up,” he can’t think of anything else to say, it all seems too fake or sometimes even too real. “How far are you?”

“A block or so. See you in a few minutes.”

He hangs up.

Haru paces for a good two minutes, randomly touching things, arranging pillows and stacking cups in the dish drainer. His breathing is random, panting and frantic, and he keeps fisting his shaking hands. _Stop it. Stop it, it’s just Rin._

The doorbell scares the shit out of him.

_I can’t hug him I can’t touch him I can’t do it._

Rin is standing at his doorstep, cheeks flushed and his phone still cradled in his palm. He looks grungy and tired, eyes worn from the inability to sleep, and his shirt is full of wrinkles.

“I missed you,” Rin whispers, his voice rushing out in one big breath. He pauses, hands twitching like he wants to reach out for him, a hug maybe, and then asks, “Can I—? Is it—?”

It’s been so long that he has to ask now. Haru feels sick.

Haru moves forward first, hands tugging at Rin’s shoulders to pull him inside, and he feels a twist in his gut. _That’s not me, that’s Rin._ Anxiety is running like a river, straight through him from his head to his toes. Haru tries to not to look phased by it, given that he winced a bit, but Rin won’t question that.

The door falls shut, and Rin is staring at him in the silence. Haru can’t look at him, can’t move his hands from his shoulders. He’s stuck.

“Can I hug you?”

He feels like a mannequin being forced into movement when he pulls his hands back and wraps them around Rin’s midsection. Rin moves so slowly that Haru is sure that he’s made a mistake; maybe he realized that he didn’t want to hug him after all—

Rin falls into him, face burrowing in Haru’s shoulder; arms clenched around him like a vice.

Haru has closed his eyes, trying not to see the swirl of colors, so close and tangible that he’s sure he can taste them. They’re a myriad of the rainbow, fluctuating quickly, interchanging at a rate so rapid he can’t keep up. Rin’s touch feels like aloe, except there’s no burn. He doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even physically feel the sting of contact, and he’s just another layer of soothing, mint scented skin.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call you. When you told me that you started college, I assumed you were busy, and then I was busy all the time and you never called.”

 _You never called._ This burns Haru.

“I don’t mind,” he breathes, and something releases in his chest. _Relief._ It’s Rin though, not Haru that feels that, and suddenly he feels too close, like he’s suffocating. _I’m taking things from him without his permission._ His mind is a whirlwind of static thought, and he feels like he did when he was fourteen, stowing himself away in a dark room so nobody would touch him and know.

Rin pulls back ever so slowly, noticing the shaking of Haru’s hands, and makes a tentative grab for them. _No, not the hands, they’re too sensitive._ He’s noticed over the years that people’s hands are the most receptive points in their bodies. Holding hands with someone is suddenly far more intimate than even sex.

Their fingertips brush, and there’s a sticky, warm feeling crawling through his throat. _Rin’s throat._

“What’s wrong, Haru?” Rin asks, voice hushed like he’ll scare him.

“You quit talking to me…because I lied to you,” Haru says. He’s slow, and savors the taste of the words in his mouth. “I can’t tell you. I don’t understand it myself even…”

“Haru.”

“You must hate me.”

“ _Haru,_ ” he snaps. “For god’s sake, shut up already. I don’t hate you. I was being a little bitch, okay? We’re over that now, I’m here, and we’re going to see Gou and figure all this shit out. I’ve told you so many times that I’m _here_ for you.”

_And I’m here for you._

He can’t say it.

So instead he nods, letting Rin lead him outside into the early morning sunlight. There’s a breeze pulling from the ocean, bright and salty, and Rin smiles at him again, a look of reassurance.

When they make it to the station, Rin starts to fidget. His knee jogs, he gets snippy, Haru tries to touch him, but instead he’s the one being shouldered off. Somehow he thought that this wouldn’t bother him, but it does.

He vaguely wonders, _is this what it’s been like all these years? Has it been this painful for him having me shove him away?  
_

_Have I been hurting him?_

Rin is devastatingly quiet when they get to the hospital; only opening his mouth to ask what room his sister is in. Haru makes note that she is on the same floor as Nagisa, maybe even a few rooms down at that.

“I’m scared,” Rin says in the elevator, and Haru is sure he’d already know that if he’d touched him since getting off the train. “All I know is that it has something to do with her lungs, that’s all, and she’s had asthma all her life, I just—.”

“It’s okay,” Haru finds himself saying, reaching out tentatively to take Rin’s hand. There’s still a slight tremor in his fingers when they interlock, and a shock of ice bolts through Haru’s system. _Fear. He’s so afraid_. “Whatever is going on, it will be fine.”

Rin doesn’t look like he believes him, but holds on tighter anyways.

Haru’s breath catches in his throat when they exit the elevator, noticing the same walls, same hallway, and then he hears familiar laughter from a few rooms down.

They’re still holding hands when they stop at Gou’s room, directly across from Nagisa’s.

“Haru? Is that you, Haru?”

Haru wants to duck, run away and not have to deal with trying to explain to Rin why he’s friends with someone who’s terminally ill, have to try and explain The Dead Club without sounding like some self deprecating moron.

“Wow, it is you! Back so soon?” Nagisa is walking around now, oxygen tank not far behind him in the doorway. Rin stops, makes eye contact, and then laughs a little.

“You know him, Haru?”

“Yes,” he says, very quietly, and then feels Rin’s hand start to leave his.

“Is that your boyfriend, Haru?” Nagisa says teasingly. He’s smiling, bright as sunshine, but still under cloud cover that only seems to be getting worse. “I never took you for the type. Well— not the gay type I mean, just someone who dates.”

Haru feels his face start to heat, and Rin pulls him by his shoulder, turning him back towards Gou’s room.

“You know Gou?” _Damn it Nagisa, do you know when to stop talking?_ “I met her today, she’s very sweet. Is that your sister, Haru’s boyfriend? You look a lot alike.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Haru coughs out, stubbornly and albeit a little too harsh. Something cracks in Haru’s chest, and he feels the connection from where Rin’s hand is still clutching his shoulder. _Does that hurt him?_

“We have to go,” Rin says. “My sister’s in there.”

“Talk to you later Haru!” he waves, a toothy smile crowding his face, and Haru feels like it doesn’t belong here. _Not in a hospital, not around death._

Gou looks tired, and even though she’s hooked up to oxygen, her breath still rattles loudly in her chest. Their mother is in a chair beside her, and when she sees Rin she hugs him immediately.

Haru hangs back, knowing he’s here out of convenience, out of the fact that Rin can’t bear to be alone most times.

“Oh, Haru you’re here too,” she doesn’t hug him though, still remembering that he’s that weird friend that doesn’t like to be touched. “It’s good to see you.”

Haru nods, eyes drifting towards Gou, and sees the heavy cloud of infection settled over her chest. It’s not as dark as Nagisa’s, but it’s in the same place, and looks like it’s making itself comfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Rin asks, taking his mother’s empty seat and grabbing for Gou’s hand. She looks irritated at the gesture, but lets him hold it anyways.

“They said that there’s a lot of extra fluid in my lungs, and that it might have something to do with the pneumonia I just had. Apparently though there’s something genetically wrong with my lungs which is causing them to deteriorate faster instead of get better,” she looks resolute about it all, the ever stubborn Gou that they always knew. “Don’t cry, Rin, you’ll look stupid. I’m going to be fine."

“Shut up,” he says, although it’s an alternative to _I love you._ “I leave for college and what do you do? Get sick. I had more faith in you.”

She laughs when he ruffles her hair.

Something burns in Haru’s chest. He goes to find where it’s coming from, and realizes that it’s himself.

Their mother hangs back as the two siblings chat away, avoiding the dire topic that had already been brought up, and opt instead for discussing school and work. Haru can’t help but notice though the forlorn look in Mrs. Matsuoka’s eyes. She eventually wanders over to the window, quiet and obviously thinking.

Time ticks by, and Haru notices that he has an afternoon class in an hour and a half.

“Um, I have to go. I have a class soon. Feel better Gou,” Haru goes to duck out of the room, quick and easy, but Rin catches him before he can. Their hands meet, and there’s that oppressive stickiness in his throat accompanied by a seed of worry flowering in his stomach.

“Can we talk? Outside?”

Haru can only nod. It would seem rude to deny him at this point.

The door clicks shut behind them, and Haru prays that Nagisa is either asleep or knows better than to interrupt. _Is that your boyfriend, Haru?_

“I know this is stupid, but is there any reason you won’t let me touch you? I mean— other than the usual, cause you’re usually okay with me most of the time, but you just seem kind of stiff, scared sometimes, but—.”

“Rin. It’s fine,” Haru sighs. “I’ve been exhausted lately, school is hard.”

“Is it about what I said? I told you, I was just being bitchy, and I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to not call you for that long—.”

“Why are you being so honest with me?”

“Why do you keep interrupting me?” Rin snaps, and that’s the threatened Rin coming out. _He feels put on, attacked._ “I’m just trying to apologize for what happened, that I was such a douche bag for those months.”

They stare at each other, aggravation building in Rin’s eyes. At this point, Haru almost wants to grab him, wants to know deep down what he’s feeling. When they touch, it must feel like fire.

“It’s my problem, Rin. It has nothing to do with you, and I need to deal with it.”

“Let me help you,” his voice pitches up an octave, and Haru feels like he’s going to start shouting soon. _Don’t cause a scene, please._ “I want to help you through whatever this is Haru, whatever this has always been. I didn’t mean it, you don’t have to tell me what caused this.”

He reaches for Haru, hand outstretched, but starting to shake. Haru pulls back abruptly, shoulder knocking into the wall.

“I told you, it’s _my_ problem, and I’m going to figure it out. You can’t help me, Rin.”

He turns on his heel and leaves.

 _You’ve made a grave mistake,_ he thinks. _Maybe now he’ll never talk to you again._

His eyes are burning in the elevator, but he keeps himself under control as other people get in. He manages his way through the lobby, but the second he gets in the parking lot the tears start to come.

_I fucked up._

“Haru? Haru, are you okay?”

He stumbles, and his feet catch on the curb where he’s standing. Makoto has just gotten out of his car, keys jangling in his hand, and he pitches forward to catch Haru where he’s started to fall.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” there’s a flicker of anxiety coming from him, starting at the base of his spine and crawling to his heart. _Nagisa? Does he think it’s about Nagisa?_

He is so warm though. His hands are large and comforting, and Haru just wants to sink into him. _I am safe here._

“It’s nothing, I’m just— I’m just being a baby, that’s all,” he tries to stand, but his legs are shaking. “I need to go, I have class, I’m sorry—."

“Skip class,” Makoto murmurs. “You can’t go like this, you’re a wreck. Well— no offense, you just— I’m sorry…”

He helps Haru stand. His hands are shaking, knees quivering, and there are tears still leaving tracks down his cheeks. Makoto doesn’t look at him with pity though, just a hint of concern and something very warm.

“Let’s go somewhere, okay? I was going up to visit Nagisa, but he’ll understand,” Makoto smiles very softly. “I’ll buy you lunch and you can calm down, okay?”

Haru wants to cry again, but only because Makoto is too kind.

When they make it to his car, Haru is still shaking a bit. His hands are the worst, and every time he takes in a breath it rattles and he feels the edge of tears again.

“Are you cold?” Makoto asks, looking concerned as ever. Haru goes to shake his head, but Makoto just returns the gesture. “You are, get over here.”

Haru is afraid he’ll touch him, hug him or something, but instead he just pulls his sweatshirt over his head and offers it to him. Haru stares at it, and feels stunned at the fact that he would offer that up to a near stranger. _We don’t even know each other that well. Why are you so kind to me?_

“Go on, put it on. It’ll be big on you, but at least you’ll stop shivering.”

Haru takes it. He puts it on during the walk back to the other side of the car, and notes the earthy, warm scent that is so obviously _Makoto._ The sleeves are far too long and the rest of it swallows his torso. He feels like a small child trying on an older sibling’s clothes.

“Yeah, it’s too big. But you’re looking better now, right?”

Haru can’t bring himself to speak, and just buries his nose in the fabric of the sweatshirt.

Since Makoto is now missing his sweatshirt, he’s only wearing a ratty tank top and a pair of jeans. Haru feels a twist in his stomach as he admires his arms, obviously bulked up from exercise, maybe being in a sport. He feels weak, thin and sickly because he never really got outside most of his childhood.

“Where are we going?” his voice comes out softer than intended, a little raw from crying.

“There’s this nice place I go for lunch sometimes. They have really good soup,” Makoto smiles at Haru again, and he feels his chest constrict. “I hope I’m not coming across as too pushy, you just seemed like you needed a nice bowl of soup and maybe someone to talk to.”

“That’s perfect,” Haru says, a puff of words so soft it could be nearly mistaken for an exhale.

Makoto is a calm, very controlled driver. He signals for everything and drives exactly at the speed limit. There’s no sudden stops or swerving for last minute exits like Rin.

The two are complete opposites.

They pull into the parking lot of a small, almost ramshackle looking restaurant. The windows are dark and the outside is a little dingy, but Makoto reassures him that it’s “the best soup you’ll ever taste and for the cheapest price too.”

The inside is much the same, only cleaner than expected, and absolutely deserted. It’s an odd time though, and Makoto is too honest of a person to drag Haru somewhere that he didn’t sincerely think was good.

They take a small booth in the back, and the waitress that comes and asks for drinks is older and obviously knows Makoto. She gets him “the usual” and looks to Haru for an answer.

He tries to speak past his raw throat, but just sort of stutters, and Makoto orders something to drink for him instead.

“I’m sorry,” he says once she’s left. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me right now, I just know that I screwed something up and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Do you think I could help?” Makoto’s eyes are wide and expectant. The question is so simple, yet he adds a delicacy to it that only comes with someone who has practiced patience. _Small children, maybe?_

“Maybe,” Haru frowns, burying his face deeper into the sweatshirt. “It has to do with my friend, and you don’t know him, but—.”

“Hmm?” their drinks have come, and Haru realizes that his mouth is completely muffled by the fabric over his nose. He peeks over the collar at Makoto as he blows on his tea. _He’s so kind, so wonderful._

Haru pulls his face out of the sweatshirt and reaches for his tea. His hands are no longer shaking, but he feels tingly and sort of raw, like any touch could send him reeling. “It’s my friend. I said something— I screwed it up, he’s going to hate me now.”

“You can fix it, I’m sure,” Makoto says. He takes a sip of his tea, and leans back to stretch out his legs. His calf brushes Haru’s on accident, and he leaps a little in his seat. Makoto nearly drops his own cup and sputters out an apology before Haru can manage to set his own rattling cup down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Haru says softly. He wipes at his lip where the tea had sloshed out and burned him a little. “No one ever does. It’s okay.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, giving their orders for soup when the waitress comes back, and then Makoto goes to speak again.

“Your friend— is he the proud type? People who can’t admit to when they’ve screwed up or how they’re feeling can run away from problems. If he’s like that, then it would make sense that he would give you a period of silence.”

“He is a bit prideful, stubborn to say the least. He— he was trying to help me with, well… _me._ I told him I didn’t need his help, that he couldn’t help me,” Haru bites his lip. “I feel horrible. He won’t talk to me ever again, I know it.”

“Hey now,” Makoto goes to reach across the table, and then falters and pulls his hand back. Haru nearly stops him, wanting to feel that warmth in his chest. “I’m sure he won’t. He might stay quiet for a while, but he won’t stop completely. Why are you so afraid of that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Haru sips at his tea again. He sloshes it around in his mouth a little, tasting the bitterness of the tealeaves. There’s still that ever-present dry, rawness in his throat, and no matter how much tea he drinks it won’t go away.

“He did it to me when he left for college. We didn’t talk for three weeks, and then he called me back out of the blue, saying I should go to college, get outside more. He didn’t talk like he used to, just clipped, polite. I thought he hated me. Then when I applied and got accepted, he just congratulated me. I thought maybe we’d start talking again more, but he just never called.”

“And you never called him?”

Haru feels guilt wash through his throat. _No, I never bothered to initiate it. I thought he would solve it, would decide that it was better to talk again.  
_

_He never did._

“I take that as a no,” Makoto doesn’t sound disappointed though, or judgmental. “I really don’t want to be pushy, or rude, but would you mind if I asked a kind of personal question?”

Haru shakes his head.

“What…um?” he’s staring at his teacup, fingers brushing it and turning it around in its spot. “What caused you to not like human touch? You don’t have to tell me, I just want to help you if you want—.”

“I already told you that when I was seven I had meningitis. They told me that I was going to die because a lot of the medications weren’t working. And, as you know, I died,” he takes a breath. “There’s something wrong with my brain. After I came back, I haven’t been the same since.”

_Tell him. Just tell him._

_He won’t believe you; he’ll laugh, and say you’re crazy._

“That makes sense,” Makoto sounds though like he’s contemplating it. “I just asked because usually people with that kind of condition go through some trauma. Usually um— sexual…assault? I only know this because I’m in school to become a child psychologist, and I’ve taken a lot of psychology classes.”

It makes sense now, the patience and the neutral, comforting tone.

“I’m sorry. Did I offend you?” his words rush out in a flurry. “God, sometimes I can’t maintain boundaries, I’m sorry—.”

“It’s fine,” Haru says. Somehow, he feels more open now. He doesn’t feel as locked up as he is with other people. Most don’t bother to ask what caused it, only nod and maintain a safe boundary from him. “You’re very kind, Makoto. I’m not…used to it, I guess.”

The words look like they’ve broken Makoto a little, and Haru wants to take his hand.

_I want to know._

Their soup comes, so random and sudden that it breaks them out of the moment. Haru recognizes the smell of miso, and his mouth starts to water. He hasn’t had it in so long, and the prospect of it being “the best soup he’s ever tasted” just makes him all the more excited.

Makoto laughs.

“Hmm?” he’s already slurping down most of it even though it burns the inside of his mouth. Makoto is giving him that endearing smile, the one that makes his heart burn a little.

“It’s like you haven’t eaten in years,” he takes a tentative spoonful of his own, and hums at the taste. “I told you it’s the best.”

Haru can’t respond. The soup is _too_ good.

They don’t talk much while they’re eating. Or rather, they _can’t._ Haru finishes long before Makoto does, and then feels guilty for it, just sitting there staring at him with miso probably still dripping down his chin.

“Thank you,” Haru blurts out. “Thank you for this.”

“Anytime,” Makoto says. He’s made it down to the last few drops in his bowl, trying horribly to not slurp and be rude, but Haru just waves him on anyways.

“You can be sloppy, I don’t mind.”

Makoto’s colors are still bright and vibrant. They pulse, but not as obnoxiously as most people, just warming around the edges like drifting by a campfire. Haru’s fingers twitch in the too-long sleeves of the sweatshirt and he contemplates asking for a phone number.

_Is it too forward? Would he think I’m weird? Does he think I just want him around as some sort of therapist?_

“Haru.”

“Huh?” he jerks his head up, realizing that he’s been drifting off into his thoughts. His cheeks warm a little at Makoto’s easy smile.

“What do you want to ask? You look like you’re going to explode.”

“Um, well, I just— you know I don’t want to be awkward, but just…can I—?”

“Phone number?”

Haru nods frantically, not trusting his voice anymore.

Makoto laughs, so soft and delicate, and Haru wants to just wrap himself up in that voice. He grabs one of the napkins and hastily scrawls out the digits before sliding it over to Haru.

“Thank you,” Haru’s voice is on the verge of shaking, but it’s not out of stress or fear, more the excitement bubbling hot in his chest. “Would it be too much trouble to ask for a ride home?"

Makoto looks exasperated for a moment, and Haru jolts a little, scared he’s said the wrong thing, how wrong to assume that—.

“I brought you here, why would I not give you a ride back home? Haru, you are so funny sometimes.”

Makoto pays for bill (with much protest from Haru, he can’t seem like _that_ much of a freeloader), and they ride in comfortable silence to Haru’s house.

Before Haru can get out of the car though, Makoto is calling him back. He’s got one foot on the ground, but still manages to turn back at the other’s voice.

“What building are most of your classes in?”

“Science,” Haru says. “Why?”

“We should go get coffee or something between classes, or just—,” Makoto’s face is starting to go red. He flounders little, and then regains his footing. “I’ll text you, and we can meet up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Haru nods, sliding the rest of the way out of the car. Before he shuts the door though, he pokes his head back in a little. “Thank you, for everything today. You’re too kind to me.”

Makoto scoffs. “How could I not be kind to you? Have a better rest of the day.”

Haru can’t help but wave when he pulls out of the driveway.

It’s not till he’s inside that he notices he’s still wearing Makoto’s sweatshirt. He contemplates texting Makoto to tell him so he can come back and get it, but he waits a few hours and then promptly sends a text.

To: Makoto Tachibana  
_Hey, um I still have your sweatshirt_

From: Makoto Tachibana  
**oh, really? then I guess we’ll have to meet up to get it back :D**

To: Makoto Tachibana  
_Let’s meet in the library tomorrow. Whatever time is good for you._

From: Makoto Tachibana  
**okay! I’ll text you a time when I know**

There’s a long period of silence where Haru decides to curl up on the couch and watch stupid television, phone forgotten on the coffee table as he starts to doze.

It buzzes against wood, loud and humming in the silence not filled by the TV. Haru is expecting another message from Makoto, but is equally surprised and terrified when he picks up the phone.

From: Rin Matsuoka  
_Can I spend the night?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will be gone all of next week and without a computer at that, so there will be no update that tuesday (sad, i know)
> 
> when i get home i'll try hard to catch up, but my birthday is soon after, so things may get chaotic as there is another possibility of leaving town. (my grandma's has shitty wifi, and they have to turn it off cause my computer is a data muncher)
> 
> thanks guys!


	3. the space between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies all around for taking so long. I've been busy for a while and school is starting in a week so hell is upon me. I was going to upload this on Tuesday like normal but got too excited and so yeah here it is
> 
> the vibe feels different for this chapter. i'm writing in a different location?? maybe that's why. gah i'm getting to the crossroads point where i'm like how do I get from point a to point b??? how do I get characters here???? whERE ARE MY RELEVENT PLOTPOINTS 
> 
> (also did I bother to check when wheel of fortune airs? no, it's not relevant to me apparently)

[The house is staggeringly quiet as the day goes on](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYRl4YNMmwI), not a word more from Rin, and Haru isn’t sure if he should be anxious or relieved.

He wastes time by rearranging the kitchen cabinets and bookcases, even going as far as to dust the entire house just to try and get his heart to slow, but in the end it just makes him sneeze uncontrollably for a good ten minutes. Haru checks his phone every half hour, and then again at ten minute intervals. He gets nothing.

He’s not sure what he expected.

There’s that nagging bit of his mind that just keeps telling him to respond. But the later it gets the more awful he feels, and the excuses jamming between his ears feel hollow and false; his phone died, he didn’t get home till late, et cetera _et cetera._ His heartbeat stays sudden and rapid, and it’s ossified in his head. Fingers quake, only slightly, but enough to slosh half of his water onto the tile floor.

It’s killing him.

Haru brings up the message three more times, staring at the numbers reading _6:10_ and wondering when he can text back that seems logical, that he’s not ignoring him, or that the lie doesn’t match up. _What if he saw me meet up with Makoto?_ The new factor throws a wrench into his thoughts, and everything starts over again.

At precisely _6:47_ Haru’s phone vibrates on the coffee table, and it actually takes him a few moments to really register that fact as Pat Sajack pulls up a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune, another contestant screeching for a vowel as Haru’s quivering fingers reach for his phone underneath the furry throw.

He’s burrowed up to his nose, nice and toasty warm, and finally lets his thumb slide over the button to open the message. In a streak of anxiety he shuts his eyes, and only lets them slide open when his subconscious decides that the text is safe.

From: Rin Mastuoka _Yes or no? Text me when you get this_

Haru’s heart is hammering in his throat, and he pulls the afghan up further so his eyes poke out and his phone is just barely grasped between blanketed fingers. _Yes or no?_ The words burn his eyes, and they’re watering when his phone suddenly buzzes again.

From: Rin Mastuoka _I don’t want to be alone tonight. Mom is staying at the hospital. I’m too anxious._

He can’t type out a “ _yes, come over”_ fast enough.

Haru wonders sometimes— albeit a little too often —if this part of it will ever get better. The anxiety, the shaking— and sometimes if things are really going to shit, the panic attacks. His memories of time before the meningitis are blurry and far away, but it’s still clear to him that these feelings were there, but just maybe not as bad.

When Haru was thirteen there was a brief time his parents forced him into therapy. The four sessions he went to were painful and terrifying, and everything the man asked him just made him more anxious, sweaty and shaking until he started to cry. His mother decided then that maybe therapy wasn’t for him, and so began his descent into darkness and isolation.

Rin doesn’t text back. Everything is disgustingly quiet except for the television, and Haru finds himself holding his breath, knuckles white in the grip of his phone. He keeps telling himself to breathe, but it never comes, and his breath is panting and jagged in his throat.

 _Don’t hate me,_ he thinks. _I don’t want you to hate me._

At _7:12_ there’s an abrupt knock at the door, sounding hesitant and stumbling like their fist had just accidentally connected with the wood. Haru untangles himself from the couch (seven o’ clock news easily forgotten) and almost slams into the door, face jammed near the peephole.

It’s Rin, no doubt, holding a flower printed pillow to his chest and a near concave duffel bag in his hand (probably didn’t pack much, only a shirt and jeans, but Rin was never very good at thinking ahead anyways). Haru slides the deadbolt with shaking fingers and pulls open the door, just enough so that his head pokes out, and catches Rin’s somber eyes.

“Haru,” his voice catches, and Haru feels like screaming.

He opens the door wider to let him in, and Rin slides past, colors drawn back into his skin like he’s trying to keep it inside himself. He’s not projecting like most people do, and Haru feels his chest constrict at the thought.

“Thanks for this,” he sounds absolutely exhausted, and drops onto the sofa with his pillow shoved into his face. He says something else, but it’s muffled, and Haru makes an inquisitive noise in response.

“Huh?” Rin turns around to lie on his back. “Oh, sorry…” he looks bashful, confused, and the thread of pale blue curling around his head licks out like a flame. Haru unconsciously takes a step back, and Rin notices. Their eyes lock again, and Haru buries his face in the collar of Makoto’s sweatshirt.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Hm?”

“That sweatshirt,” Rin gestures at it, hand lose and uncaring. The blue tendrils slinking around his frame are restless, and he chews on his lower lip. “It’s too big for you, never seen you wear it.”

“It’s—,” Haru stutters, hands catching in the sleeves, and he balls the fabric up in his palms. “It’s a friend’s, he let me borrow it.”

Rin’s colors retreat, sinking back into his skin enough to only seem like a subtle glow, and Haru feels unexpectedly guilty. Rin pauses a bit in thought, and then scoots up into a sitting position to leave room for Haru. He takes it as an invitation to sit down, but keeps a companionable amount of space between them.

“I keep being a dickhead, I know,” Rin sighs, picking at a stray thread on the afghan. “And I keep apologizing too, but it just doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Don’t apologize,” Haru says, and it comes out quieter than intended. “It was me, I didn’t mean to yell at you like that, or say that, I’m just so scared you won’t want to talk to me—.”

“ _What?”_

Haru clams up immediately, biting the inside of his cheek as Rin gives him this incredulous “ _you’ve got to be shitting me”_ look. He goes to get up, jostling Rin’s foot in the process, and he jolts back at the sudden wave of confusion swallowing his mind. Rin moves faster though, and in a tangle of limbs and protesting words he manages to get Haru to sit back down, the distance between them far smaller now.

“Why would you think that? Why are you apologizing?” Rin extends a hand as if to reach out in comfort, but withdraws it on second thought. “It was me, Haru, it’s all me. I can’t keep a cool head, I can’t just accept things. I’m so sorry.”

Haru feels tears in the back of his throat, but he tries to dismiss it. Rin is close enough so that he can feel his body heat, but nothing more. _Is this what it’s like to touch people without feeling all the time?_ The redhead’s breath is warm and stale, and Haru wants to speak, but he fears he’ll cry if he does.

“I have to tell you something…” Rin’s looking anywhere but him now, knotting his hands in the blanket and furrowing his brow so hard Haru wants to smooth it out. But his heart jumps at the phrase, possibilities fluttering through his head so fast it feels like his heart will burst from his chest.

When Rin doesn’t continue Haru nods, offering a: “Yes?”

“One of my swimming friends— he’s really serious about everything that we do, all the training we have and that stuff, and our futures, you know? I told him that I had to leave for a few days to check on my sister, and he was okay with that, but…” his colors flare, and they flicker violently like Rin is trying to keep it in control. “He said that if I stay longer than necessary he’s coming to get me, because I can’t give up my future for a few days like this. Gou’s going to be fine they think, but I don’t want to leave her, not even for a future in pro swimming…” he struggles again with words, and Haru hears the open ended sentence, the rest of the phrase. _I don’t want to leave you._ “I keep hounding you because I’m afraid I’ll never get back here, and I’ll hate myself if I know I could’ve helped you in some way before leaving.”

Haru wants to blurt the same thing from earlier: “ _Why are you being so honest?”_ But he doesn’t think Rin would appreciate it, not at a time like this, so instead Haru reaches for his hand.

He looks surprised at the contact, and Haru tries to school his face into something neutral as the onslaught of emotion hits him. It’s violent and barely contained, like a storm just about ready to hit. He can’t pinpoint anything in particular, just bits of anger, confusion, and frustration in places near his throat and chest. Haru grips him tighter, and Rin just smiles.

“I’m a mess,” Rin murmurs as he drops his head onto the back of the sofa. “I’m supposed to be gone on Monday, but I can’t go. I don’t want to leave you guys.”

“We’ll be fine,” Haru rubs a finger over Rin’s knuckles, trying to be soothing without looking like he’s been hit by a truck, which mentally, it feels like he has. “Don’t give up your dreams.”

Rin’s eyes have already started to slide shut. “That’s the thing,” he murmurs, “I can, I _will._ At this point it doesn’t matter to me, and I’ll give up everything for you guys. I can’t let my sister die thinking I loved swimming more than her.”

“She _won’t_ die,” Haru rushes out. He sounds too panicked now, and the thought of Gou dying just makes his heart stumble. Rin pops an eye open, concern flickering across his face.

“She won’t,” he parrots back, the words not quite reaching his head, just sort of lingering on his tongue. Haru wants to grab him and shake him, drum the words into his brain until he believes it with his whole heart. “She won’t die.”

For a long time they just sit together, quiet and unmoving until Rin’s breathing evens out enough that Haru lays him down on the couch and covers him with the afghan. It’s still early, but he looks drop dead tired so Haru lets him sleep. He tries to read a book or sleep himself, but everything is still bright in his mind, and the presence in the house is like a static ridden current that Haru hasn’t had to be accustomed to for years.

At _2:34_ Haru finally falls asleep, the collar of Makoto’s sweatshirt shoved into his nose and the scent slowing his frantic heartbeat.

* * *

Haru wakes to the sound of someone rattling around in the kitchen, and through his semi-conscious haze he manages to piece together the night before without panicking about a burglar trying to thieve his kitchen knives.

Rin looks like he’s trying to cook, but Haru’s unsure, for half the cupboards are left hanging open and something is burning in the toaster. The carton of eggs is left out on the countertop, and Haru goes to put them away when Rin protests, claiming he still needs some.

“You never cook,” Haru grouses sleepily. “Why are you cooking now?”

“I thought you’d like it,” Rin grumbles. “I’d let you sleep in and make breakfast, it’s the least I could do.”

“Let’s not,” Haru says around a yawn, and takes the pan from Rin’s hands. “You can buy me breakfast instead of destroying my kitchen.”

They’re sitting in some diner four blocks down, vinyl crunching underneath them and the smell of grease and old linoleum washing through the air. Rin orders something heavy and probably fried, Haru opts for a bowl of oatmeal. Rin looks at him, eyeing him up and down— almost concerned —before fooling around with his napkin.

“What do you eat these days? You’re a twig.”

“I’ve always been thin,” Haru murmurs, sipping at his water. “Nothing new.”

“Not like this,” his voice drops a bit, and the tone scares Haru. Rin’s colors are more in line today, but not as restrained as before, like he’s let go enough to accept it. There’s a small patch of sunny yellow flowering near his head, and it’s comforting. “Have you been okay though? Really?”

“I’m fine, Rin.”

The conversation drops off abruptly.

Their food comes, and the air lightens a bit. Haru tries to eat more than he usually would, proving a point to Rin that he _does_ eat, but afterward he feels nauseous anyway. He never usually eats anything more than a granola bar in the morning, and a whole bowl of oatmeal plus a piece of Rin’s toast is just _too much._ He drinks down the rest of his water to try and settle his stomach while Rin pays the bill.

“I should head back to the hospital,” Rin has that exhausted look again, anxiety tinged sickly green in his stomach. “Do you want to come with?”

“No, I—,” he stutters. “Tell Gou I said hi.”

Haru can’t tell if he looks disappointed. It hurts.

* * *

Home is quiet, and the couch smells like Rin.

Haru wanders around the house a few times, pacing the kitchen and halfheartedly sipping at a glass of water. He still feels horrendously full, and the prospect of purging the food almost seems like a good idea, until he sees Rin’s face and decides against it.

He could use to gain a few pounds.

It’s some odd number past eleven when Haru gets a text. He half expects it to be from Rin, but is surprised and suddenly reminded of the fact that he was supposed to meet up with Makoto today. It’s brisk and full of smiley faces, asking if they could meet at the Union’s coffee shop at 12:30 instead.

Haru’s fingers shake when he types out the response. It’s not from anxiety.

Like every day he has to ride the train, Haru does breathing exercises beforehand so he doesn’t have a panic attack during the ride. It’s been a while since he’s really felt suffocated, but he doesn’t stop doing it even after the touching and the colors only turn him agitated instead of sick. The train is especially busy, crammed full of teenagers going to the mall, and loud, agitated businesswomen on shopping hunts.

Haru puts his headphones in and stares at his feet the whole ride. People jostle him, bump into his knees, or occasionally trip over his feet, and he still manages to maintain some semblance of sanity. Going to college did him another favor, giving him the ability to sustain himself in crowded places without collapsing or getting sick.

Haru’s embarrassed at the fact that he slept in Makoto’s sweatshirt, and he hopes that he doesn’t notice, that maybe the wrinkles are a dead giveaway or that it smells like Haru instead.

The coffee shop is crowded, which is normal for a Saturday. Makoto is seated in a tiny, secluded booth in the corner, away from all the noise and chatter. His heart warms at the thought, and he deftly maneuvers his way through the busy college students obstructing his path.

Makoto waves to him when Haru takes a seat, and he makes note of the cup of tea already steaming in front of him. Makoto asks if he wants anything and Haru shakes his head, saying he’s already eaten. They stare at each other for a long moment, no words exchanged, until Haru shoves the hoodie over the table in offering.

“Thanks,” Makoto stuffs it next to him in the booth. “So…now I interrogate you?”

Haru surprises himself by laughing. “Put those therapist skills to use.”

Makoto flushes a little, and Haru notes the pale pink shimmer slipping its way through his buttercup yellow. He’s a little sunburst, all bright and warm, and Haru wants to wrap himself up in it just like the sweatshirt.

He hopes he’s not blushing.

“What do you go to school for?”

“Marine biology,” Haru says. “I like water, and swimming…”

“You like to swim?” Makoto’s eyes light up. “I swam in high school, did a lot of competitive stuff with Nagisa until he got diagnosed. We should go swimming sometime!”

Haru wants to say yes, wants to _scream_ yes, but only manages a minute nod and picks at a hangnail. Makoto chatters on about it, noting Haru’s sudden muteness, and tells stories of when he was in high school and all the competitions they went to, and exclaims proudly how he got to regionals once for the backstroke.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’ve only been talking about myself,” Makoto is blushing again, and Haru feel like his heart will burst. “I’m not used to it, Nagisa usually holds up most of the conversations, he’s a real chatterbox.”

“I don’t mind,” Haru says. “I like listening.”

Makoto opens his mouth as if to say something more, but closes it and just _smiles_ like it’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said.

“My favorite color is blue,” Haru blurts. For a moment his anxiety takes hold, and he feels embarrassed for all of two seconds before Makoto responds in a way that he hadn’t expected.

“What kind of blue? There are a lot of shades of blue, it’s kind of hard to just say ‘blue’, isn’t it?”

He seems so genuinely interested. It’s such a stupid, meaningless topic but everything in his colors is bright and shiny and wonderful, so warm that it almost melts Haru’s heart. He briefly wonders how someone could be this cheery all the time, so invested in the smallest of things because deep down he _knows_ it makes them happy.

He wonders what he’s like sad.

“Dark blue, like the ocean on a stormy day. What about you?”

“Green, like grass. I don’t like neon, it’s too much, hurts my eyes,” he chuckles a bit to himself. “My little sister loved lime green for a while. I thought I was going to die, I was so sick of it.”

They laugh together, quiet and reserved, but enough to warm Haru from the inside out. He learns that Makoto has younger twin siblings and that he came from a smaller town than even this, somewhere cold and far away, and he says he doesn’t miss it one bit except for his family. He likes jasmine tea the best and doesn’t listen to the radio, only if his iPod is dead (but he admits that his favorite band is some pink, bubblegum pop girl group). He had a cat once, but it died when he was young, so he’s always been afraid of having an animal since. He’s known Nagisa since they were five. He loves tiger lilies.

Haru wants to know everything.

The conversation lulls, and very suddenly Haru realizes that they’ve been here for over an hour, just chatting and laughing, and it hits him like a kick to the stomach. _I’ve never done this before._ He thinks of all the talks with Rin, but they feel sour and grey, like every one of their conversation topics.

He must look it, shocked and probably half strangled, for that’s what it feels like.

“Are you okay, Haru?”

“Y-yeah,” he grips the edge of the table, knuckles white. “I’m sorry, it’s just— I’ve never…I’ve never done this before. I don’t usually just talk to someone like this.”

Makoto’s colors dim for a second, and Haru nearly panics, but then he notices the small smile gracing his lips. “It’s fine. You’re a really nice person to talk to,” pause, teeth worrying at a lip. “By the way, has anything happened with your friend?”

There’s a considerable pause where Haru thinks through how much he should tell him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust him with the information or that it’s really that private, it’s just that Haru almost feels like he’s betraying Rin, but he’s not quite sure why.

“We made up. He wasn’t mad at me,” a stray thought staggers into his mind, so random and assaulting that he almost laughs out loud. _I used to never make eye contact, I couldn’t even look at their nose. I’d just stare at their neck. Now I’m staring right at him._

Makoto’s eyes are like gems, so green in the warm afternoon sunlight that Haru wonders why he never bothered to look people in the eye before. It’s also striking in itself that he’s somehow managed it now, with a person he only knows on the barest surface when it took him years to really, truly meet Rin’s gaze.

_People’s eyes are so beautiful. Why have I never noticed before?_

Another thought, just as ridiculous, spontaneous.

_Just tell him._

A heaviness weighs down on his shoulders, and the thoughts pass.

“They’re going to release Nagisa on Monday, says his vitals are near stable again,” he pauses, blinking, and when his voice comes out it’s small and hesitant. “Do you know Gou Matsuoka? Nagisa says he saw you yesterday, that you went to visit her.”

“Yes,” Haru points his gaze at the table now. “She’s my friend’s sister. He’s visiting, goes to a school pretty far away, and came to see that his sister was all right,” Pause. “He’s…he’s the friend I told you about.”

An _oh,_ forms on Makoto’s lips, but it’s not spoken. They’re quiet again, and Makoto stares down the dregs of his tea like it holds the answers to the universe.

“Can I see you again?” Makoto asks his teacup. “I…I want to get to know you better, and if you’re friends with Nagisa and them, it only seems right…” he huffs out a sigh. “Am I sounding right? Is this weird?”

“Yes,” Haru stops, shakes his head. “I mean no, you’re not sounding weird. We should— we should hang out more, just us.”

“Yeah,” Makoto nods.

The words die in their throats, questions hanging in the air between them.

“Thank you for this, Haru,” Makoto is smiling again. “Um…I think I have to go, Nagisa’s been texting me all day, nonstop—,” long, slender fingers pointing down at his pocket, indicating his phone, “—I hate to cut this short, it’s just, I think you’d understand—.”

“I get it.”

They both stand, and Makoto offers a hand— an arm? —like he’s unsure if they should hug or shake hands, and then withdraws it like he’s reconsidered. Haru waves instead, and Makoto accepts that, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth and the sunbursts near his ears blooming.

It starts to rain on the walk back to the station.

He doesn’t bother ducking in anywhere to avoid getting wet, just lets himself get soaked to the bone, and arrives at the station looking like a drowned cat, he’s sure. Haru takes a moment to warm up, and he’s positively shivering in his jeans and t-shirt, denim weighing heavy on his hips.

The train is quiet and near empty. Haru lies down on the seats and counts the white flecks in the pattern of the upholstered seating, and when he makes it to thirty two he’s already fallen asleep.

* * *

Sunday comes, sunshine yellow and accompanied by the humming of a vibrating phone.

He has five missed calls when he checks his phone that morning, and he’s still groggy when he gets another from Nagisa. Picking up only makes it worse, blearily stirring his cup of coffee as Nagisa exclaims quite excitedly how “they’re letting me out _today,_ Haru, you have to come by, we’re going to throw a party or something” and then abruptly hangs up without giving him a time or place.

After the cup of coffee Haru flips through the missed calls, and is equally surprised and concerned at the name “Rin Matsuoka” showing up in the long list of “Nagisa Haruki’s”. He shoots a brief text at Makoto asking for a clearer explanation and then calls Rin back.

From his call log it looks like he rang at about _7:30,_ and now it’s easily ten o’clock. Haru tries not to feel panicky, but it’s hopeless as every last dreadful possibility flutters through his mind, heart thumping wildly in his throat as Rin finally picks up.

“Haru,” it’s not a question, just an acknowledgment of the fact that he’s the one calling. “Hey, I—.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“What’s _wrong?_ ”

There’s a pause, shuffling, and then Rin probably coughing into his arm. “What do you mean?”

“You called at me at 7:30 this morning, what happened?”

A long pause, desperate from Haru’s end and absolutely puzzled from Rin’s.

“I called you at _7:30?”_

He sounds genuinely confused.

“Yes, you did.”

“ _Damn._ I thought— fuck, I’ve been awake so long I didn’t think to look at the time, I just called. It’s nothing— it’s nothing too important, we just got an update on Gou,” he sounds tired still, like his thought process is slow and muddy. “I think…I think they said it’s something genetic, but she’s lucky because she’s reacting to the medication. They gave her like four months recovery time if it keeps working, but that’s like a 50/50 chance and she’ll probably relapse. It’s a long road, for everyone,” uncomfortable silence permeates through the phone. “I want— I want to stay here with her, I want to be around if she gets better,” he pauses again. “You know what that means.”

“Don’t do it.”

“She’s my _family,_ Haru. I don’t care about swimming if my sister is _dead_ and I wasn’t there for her, okay?” he makes another grunting, grumpy noise, and then sighs. “Let’s not talk about it. I’m sorry for calling so early and freaking you out, I’m a fucking zombie right now.”

“Aren’t you always?”

Rin huffs, but there’s a smile in his voice.

Haru’s phone buzzes against his ear, and there’s the text from Makoto.

“I’m glad the meds are working,” Haru says. The air is heavy, awkward, and Rin doesn’t seem to hear him. “I’ll let you go, okay?”

“Yeah,” it’s breathy, hushed, and Haru hears the tears in it. “Love you.”

“Ditto.”

He can’t stand to say it, and the reason evades him.

* * *

Haru decides that he still hates hospitals.

Even when Nagisa’s room is filled to the brim with sunny, fragrant flowers, he still can’t escape the storm clouds crowding him. Nagisa is bouncing off the walls with excitement, dialogue at rapid fire speed as he tugs Rei out the door (glass vase filled with daffodils in his hand). Makoto follows with Nagisa’s parents, and Haru hangs back, the caboose to the entire train, and tries to avoid looking at Gou’s room as they pass.

They go back to Nagisa’s house— their parents politely excusing themselves because “we’re adults, I’m not going to drop dead _mom_ ” —and all pile into his room, entertainment system filled to the brim with Disney movies and slasher flicks. Haru doesn’t know what to make of the variety, but sits quietly on Nagisa’s bed as he puts in a horror movie that makes Makoto look queasy.

“Ignore Makoto, he’s a big baby,” Nagisa pats him on the back— somewhat roughly —while Rei lectures him on his consumption of sugar today. “By the way, scoot you big lug, there’s not as much room on the floor. Go sit with Haru.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Haru ends up nearly crushed into Makoto’s side during the worst horror movie to ever grace the earth.

(Haru actually can’t really say, he didn’t pay much attention because Makoto kept burying his face into Haru’s shoulder at the scary parts)

He doesn’t mind it actually, the touching part of it. The fear is only minimal, and entirely irrational enough that Haru finds it endearing, smiling at Makoto when shoves his face into the crook of Haru’s elbow. Nagisa makes fun of him most of the time, crunching on whatever sweet thing he’s found next, and Rei points out the obvious flaws in the plot while trying to manage Nagisa’s sugar intake.

It’s wonderful.

By the end of it, Nagisa’s mouth is running at full speed. He won’t shut up about whatever just happened at the end of the movie, and Rei looks so exasperated it’s comical, drawing a laugh out of Haru and Makoto when he clamps his hand over Nagisa’s mouth.

The whole ordeal ends in a licked hand and a halfhearted wrestling match (Rei’s leg is still fragile, painful but “not enough to deter him”), and then Nagisa leaps from his seat to go order a pizza.

“I’ve never done this,” Haru blurts. “This is…fun. I like it.”

They’re beaming at him, full of sunshine and warmth, and even though Rei’s rain cloud is still thick and muddy, a bloom of violet flutters out from behind his ear and it’s cool and soothing. Nagisa comes back and tries to coerce Makoto into playing some first person shooter game with him, but it isn’t successful, so they end up lazing around and telling stories until the pizza comes.

“You ever kissed anyone?” Nagisa asks. He’s sprawled out on his back on the carpet, a tangle of oxygen cords and candy wrappers. “Anyone?”

Makoto is blushing particularly hard, and Nagisa takes notice.

“Oh my god, you have. You know, we’ve been best friends since kindergarten and you’ve never told me about anyone you’ve dated. Not once,” Rei is sighing loudly from his spot beside Nagisa, but the blonde claps a hand over his face, glasses knocked askew. “Seriously, spill.”

“It was nothing,” Makoto is blushing so hard Haru thinks he might pass out. He’s mumbling into the coverlet beneath them, lip caught between his teeth. “It was in high school, not long after you got diagnosed and I didn’t want to tell you because you were already dealing with a lot and I didn’t want to like share my stupid love life, you know?”

Nagisa rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful.

“We dated for like a month and that was it, but yeah we kissed.”

“Who?” Nagisa says around a sucker, bright red and staining his lips. “Come on, who was it?”

“KisumiShigino,” Makoto rushes out, covering his face with his hands, and Nagisa explodes.

“Oh my god, _him?_ That boy who played basketball and flirted with you _every. Single. Day?_ Why didn’t you ever tell me you ass.”

This breaks out into another mini wrestling match (Nagisa slapping Makoto on the arm and Makoto begging for forgiveness through giggles) that eventually gets broken up by the doorbell signaling the pizza’s arrival.

Haru tries not to dwell on it, but the warm blush flowering through his colors and not only his skin makes something in his stomach twinge. He watches Makoto eat pizza and wonders what the sticky feeling in his throat is when he smiles at Haru, a mouthful of cheese sending him into a fit of laughter.

Haru never notices his phone, vibrating insistently in his pocket because he never picks up.


	4. like a leaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy crap i'm so sorry. i'm so so so so so so sorry about this. I have a million different excuses as to why it took so long for this update but none of them seem good enough. basically, i'm just too busy with life and my interests change too much.
> 
> aghghgh this was so strange to write. it's been so long away from these characters and my characterizations of them that i had to reread what i've written a thousand times just to feel right about it. so, given that, i apologize MAJORLY if the characterizations are a little off or things seems weird. i'm trying to settle back into this after seven months and it's hard.
> 
> also during those seven months i had a dry spell in my writing. couldn't get a damn thing out. huh. so there's also that. excuse my awkward, jaunty sentences for the moment, and the possible change in my style. 
> 
> i'm also in the process of freshening up this fic in general, just changing some tag stuff and chapter names and junk like that. I've been thinking of changing the title soon. any ideas???
> 
> (also not much happens in this chapter, at least to me. just a lot of feelings and character to character relationship building. not a lot of......plot per se. but that's all coming up!!)

[It’s completely dark outside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-_SCZZlrNs) by the time Makoto and Haru decide to leave, their exit promptly cued by Nagisa’s yawning and his stubborn refusal for them to stay— it’s all a bit melodramatic, but Haru finds Nagisa utterly amusing when he’s stomping around his room half asleep, eyes skewed and accusatory even though he just looks like an angry puppy. Rei coerces him into ending the get together, but it results in a largely awkward round of hugs by the front door with Nagisa near comatose, arms flailing and his thoughts starting to muddle together in an inebriated way.

“It’s his meds,” Rei says, nudging the blonde between the shoulder blades in the direction of his room. “Makes him extra drowsy. It hits him fast, so he always seems a little drunk.”

“Sure acts like it,” Makoto chuckles, “Well, thanks for all this. See you on Wednesday?”

“Wednesday,” Rei nods towards Haru. “See you, Haru.”

The air outside is crisp and chilled, the smell of leaf mold and mud permeating the senses, and a gust of wind kicks through the street to blow a horde of leaves into scattered formation at their feet. One particular leaf darts up into the air, close enough that Haru can see some of the details in the orange, mud trampled thing, and he imagines for a moment that it’s himself— small and torn up, apart from the rest of the pack. _Alone._

“Haru?”

Something in his concentration snaps, and Haru’s breath very suddenly falls from his throat, blowing away in the wind with the rest of the leaves. Makoto is watching him, voice gentle and face soft, standing near the car underneath a pool of cold light from the streetlamp above him. Little strands of Makoto’s hair twitch in the breeze, and Haru feels something in his chest tighten.

Makoto’s colors are still warm, but they’ve dulled, pressing closer to the skin like he’s trying to hide it. He rests a hand on the windshield of the car— palm down —and gestures with the other very slowly in his direction.

“You’re gonna get a cold, Haru. Come on,” he clicks the buttons on his fob, and Haru hears the locks open. Makoto opens the door to the driver side, but stops when he notices Haru still standing on the sidewalk. “Are you okay?”

Haru swallows, taking note of every muscle moving in his throat, the warmth of his mouth, the wetness of the saliva. He takes in a breath and exhales just as slowly. Makoto is watching him like a spooked animal, movements small and calculated.

“I’m so exhausted,” Haru blurts, and his voice sounds too loud in the emptiness of Nagisa’s street. “It always seems so easy to be around people when I think about it, but then it happens and I’m just—,” Haru’s voices catches, and the words are just beyond his mouth, just out of reach.

“You’re not used to it?” Makoto offers.

“Yeah,” Haru nods, neck popping at the movement. “Yeah.”

Makoto takes a moment to just maintain eye contact with Haru, hold him down to the ground so he doesn’t float away again. Haru can feel his chest starting to lighten, the thickness in his throat dissipating, and rolls a few words around on his tongue just to taste.

“I’m sorry for being like this. You know I’m not normal, but sometimes I feel like—.”

“It’s okay,” Makoto says very softly. “We can talk about it in the car, you’re shivering.”

Haru hadn’t noticed. His fingers positively quake with it, and he rubs the pads of his fingertips over his exposed arms, chapped and riddled with goose bumps. He climbs into the car with Makoto, welcomed by the absence of the wind, and then suddenly heat as the car is turned on.

Makoto’s presence is not only warm from physical body heat, but also his colors. They glow just above the surface of his skin, warm and yellow like the essence of a lit candle, and Haru’s fingers itch in a way he’s never felt before. He wants to touch him, let the warmth seep into his own skin, let himself suffocate in the sensation of it.

It doesn’t much feel like drowning when it’s Makoto.

“You want to talk about it?” Makoto asks. The heat coming through the vents is cranked all the way up, and Haru is grateful as he curls in on himself in his seat. He contemplates the question, lets it roll around in his head before taking up a response.

“Not really,” he mutters, and stares intently at his shoes. They’re blue canvas, caked in dried mud around the edges, the color faded so much they’re almost the hue of the sky on a cold autumn day. One of his shoelaces has come untied. He toes at it with his other foot.

The next few blocks of their drive buzzes with a tentative silence. Makoto respects him— respects him enough to let the subject drop, but Haru can see the uneasiness in his colors, in the way they flicker as if he has the urge to say something, a therapist’s response pulling at the edges of his mouth.

He finally speaks, and his voice is small and almost plaintive. “You can tell me to stop talking any time if I’m being weird or insensitive, crossing any boundaries you’re not comfortable with, cause I can get like that sometimes, just keep blabbing on and on, and you’re so quiet that I usually forget and I don’t think enough to let you—,” he pauses, sighs, and then shakes his head, “There I go again, talking about nothing,” he chuckles nervously, and Haru focuses on the sound, accompanied by the steady click of his blinker as they turn.

“What I’m trying to lead up to is that— oh god, how do I say this? Well, recovery is hard, and sometimes impossible. Not to say that you won’t recover, that it’s impossible, or that this won’t ever go away, and I’m not implying at all that you’re broken in the first place—,” Makoto lets out a small huff, and Haru watches with bated breath as his colors scramble around frantically near his temple, “If you want to be better, if you want to get over some of your social anxiety, it’s possible. It’s entirely possible, but it’ll be hard. So— so just— don’t give up.”

Makoto’s cheeks are flushed, and Haru’s not sure if it’s from his lengthy speech or the heat spewing from the air vents. He reaches a tentative hand towards the knob, looking to Makoto for permission before turning it down a few notches.

There’s another bout of stifled silence, and then Makoto makes an odd sort of choking noise, hands gripped so tightly around the wheel that his knuckles turn white. Haru feels oddly lucid, and it’s bizarre watching someone else struggle with words.

“Was that weird? Am I being weird?”

“No,” Haru says, and something warm prickles in the air between them. He’s caught off guard by the shimmering, iridescent pink that’s floating around Makoto’s throat like the sluggish tail of a jellyfish. It threads its way around his Adam’s apple like a collar, and a bead of nervous sweat trickles down the side of Makoto’s face.

It feels like he’s standing outside of himself, the sensation of warmth and color only barely brushing him, not harsh and irrational like it usually feels, just glowing in the small space between them in this car. This bubble.

He feels like he could forget the world in here.

A tiny, whispering thought slithers in between Haru’s ears, and it feels like a flame in the back of his throat.

_Just tell him._

He smothers it, and he swears he can almost smell the smoke of an extinguished candle as he does.

Makoto pulls up to the curb in front of Haru’s house, and in the time it takes for him to take his hands off the wheel, the pink disappears and is spontaneously replaced by a looming, dark green cloud over his head. Makoto’s face has contorted into an odd sort of grimace— like he’s thinking too hard about what he’s going to say next —and he shifts over in his seat to face Haru when he talks.

“This was fun,” he says, and Haru notices the way he rubs his thumb against the side of his forefinger, green cloud still lurking, but the expression on his face has cleared a bit. “Ignore what I said before if you want, I’m not officially a psychologist _yet_ , so I understand if I’m just talking nonsense at you. But— I just hope you had as much fun as I did.”

“Yeah,” his voice comes out softer than he intended, but Haru doesn’t give himself any time to feel self conscious about it because here with Makoto _he feels safe._ “Maybe next time…just us?”

Makoto nods, and the green above him starts to recede a bit. “No horror movies?”

“No horror movies,” Haru goes to lean back towards the car door, but stops himself when he notices just how close they are, almost within each other’s breathing space over the console, and he feels his heart start to kick into gear. The beginning of his anxiety has started to crawl through his stomach like acid, sending his nerves into overdrive, _fight or flight_ singing through his muscles like electricity.

His throat closes up, staving off the fluttery, sticky sensation clogging his windpipe. A rush of what feels like air floods through his stomach and evaporates into his chest, the sensation of floating overcoming the anxiety.

It abruptly reminds him of Rin.

Makoto seems to notice some of this— something in his eyes —and pulls back enough that Haru catches sight of his front door in the darkness beyond the car.

And Rin.

A bolt of lightning zaps Haru straight in the chest, and he clambers back in the direction of the door, hand catching on the handle enough that he falls out backwards. His head nearly makes contact with the asphalt, and Makoto yelps in surprise, launching himself forward to try and catch one of Haru’s shoes so he doesn’t completely injure himself.

_What a fool. What an idiot, God I look so stupid what am I doing what does Rin think—_

Haru scrambles to his feet, brushing at the gravel digging into the arm he caught himself on, and briskly apologizes to Makoto before shutting the car door on him, the brunet’s eyes wide and his mouth faltering like he meant to say something. Haru shuffles onto the sidewalk, something akin to rug burn itching at the tender skin of his arm from the scrape of concrete— not looking back, too embarrassed to try and say anything more to Makoto, and Haru just focuses on Rin’s slack jawed, drowsy expression on the stoop of the house.

“You okay?” he asks (tentative, eyes flickering over Haru’s shoulder), and Haru focuses on the colors starting to alight around Rin’s head; a mix of yellows and greens and greys, something drab and sickly about the sluggish way they move.

Haru nods, expecting to hear the rumble of an engine as it pulls away from the curb, but the car remains.

He cranes his head back to see, and Makoto is sitting there like he’s not sure what to do after Haru’s abrupt exit, fiddling with something in his lap. Green flashes near his ear.

_Green. So common these days._

“I called,” Rin says, and Haru’s turned back to him now, a little thing fluttering in his chest as he watches the redhead’s eyes slip over Makoto. “You didn’t pick up.”

“You called?”

“Yeah, like twelve times,” he’s snippy now— probably exhausted —and rubs at his eyes. “I mean, I’m used to you not picking up and stuff, so I decided to just come over and see if you were here. You weren’t. So I waited.”

“Why—?” Haru starts to ask, but then he hears the opening of a car door, and Makoto is stepping onto the sidewalk. _No, not now, go away—_

“Is everything okay, Haru?” Makoto’s voice is firm and politely curious, but Haru hears the tone reverberate underneath it. It’s a warning.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks ( _betrays him, goddamn it_ ) and he waves him off, tries so hard to get him to leave before things get weird. But Rin is stepping forward, hand brushing Haru’s at the movement, and something sickly and green settles in the base of his throat.

“So you’re Haru’s friend?” his voice is low and haughty, and Haru recognizes this posturing as something from the past. He knows Rin is jealous by nature, but he’s only ever witnessed it second hand, and seeing it now scares him a bit. “I’m Rin.”

A hand is offered, but Makoto just sort of stares at it, something so unlike his nature that Haru intervenes, “He’s that friend— that friend I told you about.”

Recognition sputters like a doused flame in Makoto’s eyes, and he shakes the hand with a note of resignation. Their colors are a myriad of greens and blues, and in the darkness blanketing their vision it screams like a beacon.

Haru’s fingertips are cold. Rin says something. He’s not listening, and Makoto looks to Haru.

The confusion must be written all over his face because as soon as Rin passes behind Haru, Makoto gestures towards the car as if signaling his departure.

“Wait,” Haru yanks his lanyard from his pocket and tosses it towards Rin. The redhead sputters something around the metallic jingle of keys, but Haru doesn’t stick around to hear it, stepping off the porch to speak with Makoto.

“Sorry about all that,” the front door pops open, but Rin’s steps are hesitant. “I already told you, there’s a lot of weirdness right now, and it was my fault cause I didn’t answer my phone—.”

“Hey,” Makoto smiles, a little trembling thing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s okay. I just want to know if you’re fine, if this is all good. I don’t want to ditch if you’re not all right.”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

There’s an awkward pause where Makoto tips forward, lips parting like he’s going to say something ( _do_ something), and his breath ghosts Haru’s forehead enough to let the curtain of his bangs flutter open. He’s warm; he’s so _warm_ that Haru almost pitches into it.

“I— I’ll see you later, Haru,” he mutters, and backs away towards the car. He almost trips on the curb, and they laugh together even as Makoto lets the door shut between them.

Haru’s heart is thundering like an oncoming train. His fingertips tingle.

And then he remembers Rin, probably sitting on his couch with a hurricane of questions on the tip of his tongue.

The overhead light is on in the living room, no lamps of course because Rin is _that_ kind of person (“ _What?_ I can’t see for shit in the dark, Haru, how do you expect me to do anything with these wimpy ass lamps on?”). His coat is thrown over the back of the couch, and there’s a full glass of water sitting without a coaster on the coffee table. Haru moves it onto one.

The distant hum of the shower alerts Haru to his location, and he decides to curl up on the couch to wait for him. It’s already hedging past nine o’clock, and all that’s left airing on public television are crappy game shows or late night news. Haru opts for the game shows. Less to think about.

His anxiety bubbles low in his gut though, slow to start like the languid pulse of waves against a shore. Haru buries his nose in the afghan he’s curled up in— focuses on the smell of it, the texture against his mouth —willing himself not to get so worked up that he pukes. But it feels almost impossible as his stomach loudly complains with its low, incessant gurgling. It’s happened before, except this time he’s not really keen on vomiting in the kitchen sink.

A thousand questions buzz in his head, angry bees nestled between his ears that he continues to swat away, but the more he tells himself not to think about it, the more he does.

_Why is he here? Did something happen? Is he angry with me again? Did he not like Makoto—?_

The door to the bathroom slams open, and a wave of humid, cucumber scented air wafts into the living room. Haru nestles deeper into his blankets, staring down Howie Mandel on the television screen like he’s actually invested in this mediocre re-run of Deal or No Deal. Haru doesn’t look up when Rin drops himself onto the couch near his feet, hair damp and dressed in something of Haru’s.

“Why are you here?” Haru means for it to sound more demanding, but it comes out weak and shivering. His toes just barely brush Rin’s thigh, and there’s a swoop of dread kicking into the bottom of his stomach.

“My coach called me,” Rin murmurs. Haru looks at him now, the redhead’s eyes focused on the television screen, but they’re glazed over, not really there, not really watching. He swallows very slowly, and his colors flutter nervously. Haru shifts his foot away, and the dread goes silent.

“He said if I plan on staying any longer than I have to, he’s sending Sousuke to get me,” he laughs, but it’s small and broken in his throat. “He said he might even drop me from the team.”

Shock hits Haru straight through the chest, white and hot like a fire poker, and he sits up immediately. “Why? You have family issues, he can’t—.”

“He _can,_ Haru,” it’s resolute, hollow, “This is the real world, he can drop me for whatever reason, and he said if I take too long to figure this out, he might as well not deal with me anymore.”

“But it’s not that easy.”

“I _know_ it’s not that easy,” he snaps, and Haru flinches. Rin looks like he immediately regrets it, and a thread of vermillion flares from his head towards his chest. “And I told him about Gou, I told him all the facts that there were, that she would probably recover. But now I regret it because— because now he has a reason to drop me and— and—,” his chest heaves, and he coughs, wet and low in this throat. “Why is everything so _hard?_ ”

Haru doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a damn thing about this world— about people or living, about existence and how disgustingly frail it is even though he was given a second chance at it _._ He doesn’t know why people feel the way they do, why they do it, even if he can touch them and just _know._ Half the time he doesn’t even know who he is. It hurts _so much._

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to see Rin cry.

He doesn’t want to touch him, doesn’t want that feeling of suffocating under all that isn’t his, but god he wants to comfort him, wants to help him somehow. Haru’s hands shake, and he reaches tentatively towards Rin’s elbow, brushing the skin there enough that he feels like he’s drowning in his own chest, the constricting choke of tears in his throat.

He holds him there, wrapped gingerly in his arms for at least an hour, stroking his back and brushing Rin’s hair away from his face. Haru becomes numb to it eventually, just pretends it’s his own, tries to absolve it so it’s doesn’t soak into his skin enough to hurt him.

At 10:37 Rin falls asleep.

Haru covers him with a blanket and turns the television off, hand lingering over the light switch as he watches Rin’s chest rise and fall, rattling deep in his lungs from the heft of crying.

He turns out the light.

He pretends he’s not crying when he crawls into his own bed.

* * *

 

Haru dreams that he’s drowning.

No one is there to save him.

 

* * *

There are mornings where Haru feels like there are rocks in his chest.

The light slanting in through the shades is pale— probably earlier in the morning, but Haru is too lazy to roll over and check —so he remains where he is, stomach filled with lead as he stares blankly at the plaster of his bedroom wall.

This is one of those mornings.

His muscles protest, his stomach growls, and there’s a weight in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. He curls in on himself, pulling the blanket up farther to cover the top of his head, but the warmth there still isn’t satisfying. His throat and eyes feel raw, and a few strands of his hair stick to the side of his face, cold and damp from either sweat or tears.

He doesn’t want to move.

It could be ten minutes to an hour (he doesn’t know, doesn’t care enough to keep track of time when his eyes are burning and his limbs are heavy) until he hears his bedroom door creak open. Their presence buzzes like static electricity in the air, and Haru isn’t really awake enough to look at who it is.

“Don’t you have class or something?”

Rin. Right.

“No,” he murmurs, and shifts the blanket away from his face. Out of his peripheral vision Haru can just make out Rin standing in the threshold, hair mussed and his eyes still blank with sleep. “Not today.”

It’s a Monday, so Haru would usually hang out in the library all day to study, burrowed away in some corner with just his books and his notes. Mondays are some of the best days, but right now Haru doesn’t even feel like doing that.

Rin has said something. Haru didn’t hear it.

“Hm?”

“Can I get in?” he’s already started moving towards the bed, and Haru shrugs because he doesn’t really care at this point. When they were in high school they’d sleep over all the time (Haru’s only real point of communication), lying awake for hours talking about nothing in bed, a companionable amount of space between them, but still close enough that it mattered.

The bed dips at Haru’s back, and he feels the static presence of Rin beside him. They lie there, quiet for a long time, until Rin speaks up again.

“Makoto seems nice.”

“Mm.”

“He looks like he really cares about you,” instead of sounding haughty or jealous, it just sounds sad. Haru picks at the words and wonders why.

Haru nestles his face deeper into his pillow, focusing on the softness of it, the smell, the way it dips beneath the weight of his head. He closes his eyes again and tries to focus on his own breathing, but is quickly pulled out of it when he hears Rin mutter something else.

“Hm?”

“’m sorry,” he murmurs, “About all my stupidness. I just keep— keep crashing into your life when you want me the least, and I can see it, you’re so happy with your other friends that it just starts to get annoying when I show up at your door and beg you—.”

“You’re an idiot,” Haru says, but his voice is warm around the edges. “When would I not let you in? You’re my best friend.”

Rin’s breath hitches, and Haru is suddenly afraid that he’ll start crying again.

Rin laughs instead, a little airy thing that barely leaves the edges of his mouth. The silence afterward is not awkward, but wholly intimate in a way that only the two of them can understand.

“I love you,” Rin whispers, so quiet and clandestine that Haru thinks at first that he’s not supposed to hear it. He rolls over in bed to face Rin, to get an idea of how he’s supposed to react, and almost shatters on sight.

“I—,” he chokes, and he thanks every god above that at that very moment Rin’s phone decides to ring from the living room, some metal song that’s loud and grating to the ear.

Rin’s gone in a second, tripping over his own feet as he runs to go answer the call.

_Pink. His colors were almost entirely pink._

Haru lays there in shock, his hand pawing at the warmth leftover from Rin’s body, and he hears his voice out in the hall, hushed and irritated.

“No,” he says, like it’s something obvious, and a pause.

“No, you’re _not,”_ he hisses.“You’re not getting on a goddamn plane to come get me because coach told you to. I can handle my own stuff.”

Another pause, except this time Rin makes a frustrated noise; a low, growling thing in the back of his throat.

“Do you have siblings? Do you at all understand what I’m doing here?” there’s an abrupt _thunk_ as he probably hits his fist against the wall, “I don’t give a shit about swimming if my fucking sister is _dead,_ okay?”

The voice on the other line rises enough that Haru can hear it, and Rin interrupts it.

“No, shut up. Just shut the fuck up, Sousuke. _Listen to yourself._ My career doesn’t mean shit to me right now, I need to be with my family.”

The last pause is the longest, and Haru hears another _thunk_ against plaster (probably his head) before Rin snaps out another response.

“Yes. Yes I will let it all go, thank you very much. Don’t you dare get on that plane,” he presumably hangs up, and there is more silence before the door to the bedroom creaks open again. Rin looks irritated, but there’s an edge of defeat in his eyes as he drops onto the bed again.

“Who was that?”

“Sousuke,” he murmurs into the sheets, and Haru feels his blood run a little cold when his colors suddenly blank gray. “He’s coming to get me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~also the song[Don't Swim](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZpxqVUY7XU) by Keaton Henson is totally Rin at the end of this chapter I am trash don't look at me.~~


End file.
